Friday, October 29, 2004

TV's Jeff

The wonders of the Internet are, indeed, myriad.

In a moment of IWillNotConjugateOneMoreVerbWithoutDrugs, I decided to look for some of my past friends from high school online. This is an extension of Googling ex-girlfriends, but of a much larger scope. I wasn't having much luck and was ready to just snort the blow and get back to my homework when I remembered my friend Jeff Henry.

And his website.

Jeff was a good person. He was just difficult to approach. He shuffled when he walked, with his giant body supported laterally by huge Converse running shoes. He would never look anyone in the eye. Jeff would talk to you, but with a sideways glance and often with both index fingers pointed at you, like something Fonzie would do.

He was teased a lot until the Columbine Moratorium of "Jesus, do you think?" was declared. After that, he was left to himself. I remember him mostly from my creative writing class; he would crib some of his stories, poems, and songs from Ur-nerd texts and only I could call him on it, but only by sputtering out, "you got that from Mystery Science Theater 3000: Pod People (1993)" and watching as my tenuous grasp on the female form slipped ever farther away.

This is not to say that Jeff wasn't brilliant. He was; the proof is in his website. TV's Jeff (which, again, is borrowed from MST3K) was an alternate reality that he created on the internet, in which Jeff was a befuddled but horrifically violent middle-aged man with a wife, kids, and an arrest record.

The trick here is to determine whether some of what he wrote was funny because he wrote it well or because he wrote it first. Know that this was the mid-90s and websites weren't exactly profligate; those that were around (like mine), weren't things one would want to read. But TV's Jeff gained readership, despite being hosted on various free servers and consisting entirely of yellow type on a black background.

The only way I could find the site was because Google had it and this is only because so many people had linked to it, often in the same "MY FAAAAAAVORITES" list as The Onion.

TV's Jeff's site no longer exists, I'm afraid, but Google has cached it and I managed to dig some of the pages up. I would like to do my part to further the preservation of both TV's Jeff and my friend Jeff Henry, in hopes of his one day finding this and perhaps thinking better of me. Just without the yellow text on a black background.

The Undateable, Timeless Story

There I was, in the current year. All I wanted was an item of food.

"I'm sorry sir, but this digestible item costs no less than five units of currency." the restraunt employee of unspecified gender said.

"But I only have three!" I protested. "Can't you give a guy a break?"

"Again, I'm sorry but that's the non-negotiatable price."

"5 units of currency? I could get a sexual favor from the elected leader of this bordered region for that much!"

"Trust me, I know..." the employee said. "But there's nothing I can do!"

"That's the problem with this bordered region of land we live in today...people don't even care about other people! That, and the illegal aliens who steal our jobs." I swiftly said.

Then we were all murdered by pirates.

The End

Also, please enjoy "Please Sue Me, Delta Burke." It did not succeed, that I know of. There's always hope.

Hello! Are you Delta Burke? And if so, are you looking to sue someone for abusing his right to free speech? Then you've come to the right place!

Even if you're not Delta Burke, you're still welcome here...but please, try to do everything you can to get this website noticed by Delta herself. Thanks.

Did you know Delta Burke likes to eat children? It's true! I would know, because I have a website. If, for some reason, you would like to dispute this(although I have no idea why you would, considering how the above statement is 100 percent true), you can e-mail me at:

Delta Burke doesn't like black people! In fact, she hates them! I overheard her saying this over lunch at a local restraunt. Delta Burke likes to eat lunch a lot because she is fat. Are you a black man, wanting to express your outrage at being hated by well-known celebrity Delta Burke? Then by all means, e-mail me at good for suing purposes)

Whoops, I'm sorry. I should have specified that Delta Burke hates adult black people. She still likes to eat black children. "They are so meaty, those colored's...I could eat a dozen and not get tired of them. In fact, I have!" was her exact quote. For those who don't know, my e-mail address is Feel free to write to me for general discussion about Delta Burke, science fiction and fantasy novels, or hell, even some plain ol' suing!

Ewwwww! Oh my god, ew! Look at that! She is trying to be sexy! Ewwww, oh man that is so disgusting! Jesus god, that is just sick! She's so damn ugly and fat! And fat! I won't be able to sleep for weeks because of that! (Since I'll be awake, and probably bored, you can help me pass the time by e-mailing me at

Delta Burke is very fat.

This website is brought to you by TV's Jeff's Website--the website so contraversial, it can only be viewed on the internet.

For Jeff Henry.

"Conscience is but a word that cowards use,
Devised at first to keep the strong in awe"
-Richard III

Friday, October 15, 2004

An open letter to the automatic soap dispenser in my office building’s 10th floor men’s restroom.

Dear Soapmatic,

You are something beyond my comprehension.

When I place my hands beneath the chromed swan’s neck that is your whole visible form, a sound similar to a Polaroid camera being used is heard, and a tiny globule of pink soap lands on my eager, confused palms.

You, my automatic enigma, operate beyond my clumsy fumbling.

Yet, flanking you on either side are sinks that are manually turned on and off. The technology exists; I’ve seen it. How can it be that automatic soap dispenser and clumsy steel-age sink exist in such close proximity?

You, Soapmatic, are far beyond logic.

If the standard procedure is followed: I approach the sink with my hands covered in unspeakable filth or ketchup. I turn the hot water handle, to better kill filth/condiment. I wet my hands, scrub vigorously for some preemption, and then THEN I apply the soap. I rinse it away. Then I turn the hot water handle to the off position.

Those who are terminally afraid of germs and mustard understand what I mean by this.

Whatever was on my fiiiiiiiiilthy hands was transferred to the hot water handle and then reapplied by turning it off. Only an automated sink could have prevented this. The automated soap dispenser is only so much brass polish on the Titanic.

You, wonder of our age, are beyond futility.

So, why you and not the sinks? Did some prostate-addled CEO put his foot down and demand taps that could be left running? Was there just enough in the building budget for you and nothing else? Did it come down to either automated soap dispensers or death? I know you can’t answer me; all you offer is a small pictogram showing outstretched hands and a tiny, perfect teardrop of soap hurtling downwards.

You, coy little soap-squirter, must feel like you’re beyond the smartest kid in class.

But no one gets you, Soapmatic. We all secretly hate you.

Joshua G.

Friday, October 08, 2004


I can count among acquaintances and good friends both vegans and vegetarians. The one thing that runs through them all, like so much refined soy product, is not environmental concern, or ethical outrage, or poverty, or health.

It is pure bitch-goddess stubbornness.

Consider my classmate, D____. Not only is she vegan, she is also an Irish convert to Islam. When I was tasked with bringing food for a class that we were in, I wanted to make sure I brought something she could eat. Before I could launch into the options, she stopped me: “If it tastes good, I probably can’t have it.”

This, as a lifestyle, is simply untenable for me.

But I do agree, though, with a lot of the points that no-meat people make. I want to be good. I want to sing with the Morningstar angels among the clouds of tofurkey. But, damn it all, I’m just not strong enough.

So, I did what any red-blooded yet red-meated man would do. I rationalized. I created a social and dietary movement out of it. I was Paul, making a limited idea more palatable. Sure, diluting the Word in the process, but where would we be if he wasn’t such a pandering hack?

Behold: binivorism. I am binivorous.

Eating meat isn’t inherently wrong, since we seem to have the teeth for it. What’s wrong is the amount. The gluttonous consumption of whole herds of creatures to meet some protein requirement hardwired in for humans that were still being tossed about by mastodons. Consider how just eating less meat works out in the terms of vegetarianism:

Ethics: Killing animals is wrong. Yes, but the cute and wonderful things do die eventually, at the hands of a capricious god who has abandoned them. Might as well eat them. Just not in such a quantity to force them to live merely as food, raised in drawers with no sunlight. With a decline in consumption comes a decline in the need for factory farming; couple this with an insistence on free-range meat, and one can seriously improve the lives of all animals, both delicious and otherwise.

Environment: Rainforests are stripped away in order to clear grazing land. Again, decreasing the demand decreases the need for wanton razing. Of course, still having a Brazilian burger now and then ensures that the ranchers remain employed. In a completely unrelated side effect, the reduction in meat-consumption as a status symbol (picture a peasant-defiling king with a bronzed pig in front of him) might lead to more social heft being attached to those that are smart enough for moderation. No more SUVs, micromansions, breast implants…

Poverty: Meat is expensive. Then picture a world in which you’d have a hard time giving a filet mignon away. It’s not that no one wants it, they just already had some chicken for lunch and they’re already pretty well meated, thank you. Decrease in demand leads to decrease in price.

Health: Meat will kill you. I am looking forward to when the collective mistake of Atkins catches up to us. I will be in New Zealand, I promise you, when the bill for all the colon cancer appears. But remember, it’s not eating meat that kills you: it’s eating too much of it. There’s a reason that we eat it; you need what it gives you oh so tenderly. Plus, when you give meat up completely for too long, you can lose the ability to digest it. Far too many sophomore-year vegan converts discover the consequences of this when their cheatin’ hearts get the best of them.

So, how does one go binivorous? Just cut back gradually. I have meat once a day, down from twice. When I break this rule, I don’t twist my arm. It’s a party, there’s only pepperoni pizza? That’s all right. Because for the whole week beforehand, I saved one collective chicken’s life. And I am only one man. 100 other people means 100 fewer dead chickens a week.

I’ve also discovered the joys of cooking without meat. There’s no obsessively washing the salmonella away with tofu. Most vegetarian cooking comes from adventurous and spicy cultures. I also don’t feel as loagy and weighted down. Rare is the veggie meal that males you want to lie down afterwards.

Here are some things to help you, the potential culinary convert, out in your transition to non-excess. Meat eaters can only eat extra firm tofu. The slimy stuff is repellant, unless we’re dealing with one of those people that eat the skin off of the gravy. Those freaks will eat anything. Try putting nuts on everything; cashews and pecans are fantastic in various places. You can make a good Thai peanut sauce with chunky Skippy, some red curry, olive oil, and a frying pan. This is good on anything you would have put meat sauce or gravy on before.

When I informed D____ of my wonderful and capacious idea for living, she said, “Yes, I’m sure that portion of a cow that you saved today thanks you.” But the big picture!! We can make a difference if enough people change and binivorism intentionally makes it easy!! No more worrying about bringing your vegetarian girlfriend home for Thanksgiving. Instead, picture this: a happy couple, lying in bed and reading, when one turns to the other to say, “Darling, sometimes I just want to eat a swan.” The other smiles, knowing that the two of them had collectively spared a small group of pigs in the past month, and says, “You’re a monster and I love you.”